


unfold

by absinthine



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Napping, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 00:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14508840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absinthine/pseuds/absinthine
Summary: They’d already started using nicknames for each other - not hockey nicknames, but names they would hear in Finland.Sebas, Teuvo calls him one day, just because he can’t be bothered to say the rest of Sebastian’s name, and thenSepe. And if asked, he would vehemently deny blushing the first time Sebastian uses his childhood nickname,Teukka. But it does make something warm unfurl inside him.The first time Teuvo stands in the Carolina locker room speaking his native tongue with Sebastian, he can feel that knot around his chest loosening further, and Carolina starts to feel a little bit like it could be home.





	unfold

**Author's Note:**

> set during the 2016-2017 season.
> 
> you all know the drill: this is a work of fiction with characters only based off their real life counterparts.
> 
> the bare bones of the plot were inspired by my favorite meteorological phenomenon, so shoutout to her. unbeta'd because im a lazy shit so all mistakes are mine.

Cover my thoughts in gold

I'm your flower watch me unfold

* * *

  

Once, when he was young and didn’t know any better, Teuvo was in love.

Once, when he was young and naive and quixotic, Teuvo had feelings for someone he thought was more than a teammate, and that person methodically, ruthlessly, tore out his heart.

Teuvo is no longer young, has not been in love since, and conducts himself in a strictly professional manner around his coworkers in Chicago.

But he’s thinking about that time when he was young, briefly, one summer day when he gets a call that he’s been traded, and really, he should’ve taken that as an omen.

◆◆◆

Being the new guy in the locker room is much better this time around since he knows Bicks and Nordy from before (“Hey, Turbo,” Joakim says fondly, the first day, and ruffles his hair). And management doesn’t treat him like an outsider - he’s immediately given the responsibility of mentoring the new Finnish rookie, helping him get accustomed to North America and all that. It’s not like Teuvo minds much; shared language and shared culture aren’t easily replaced, as Teuvo found when he made the transition. So he understands why Sebastian latches onto him the moment he steps foot in Raleigh.

What he doesn’t expect is how well they get along. Of course he met Sebastian at Worlds. And of course he’d heard about him through mutual friends on the national team. Sebastian seemed like, fine, but Teuvo didn’t really think much of him before.

Then over the course of training camp, Teuvo learns to share his life with Sebastian, and the thing is - he likes it. They find out quickly that they’re both terrible cooks, and they swear to stick to takeout after the second time Teuvo sets off the fire alarm.

In the languid preseason afternoons, they mostly spend their time with video games. Teuvo wouldn't call himself _bad,_ really, but Sebastian is on a whole different level of competitive. Call of Duty, FIFA, NHL - no matter the game, Sebastian can readily hand him his proverbial ass.

Except.

“You’re awful at this,” Teuvo says, delighted, as his Luigi runs Sebastian’s Toad off Rainbow Road. Toad respawns, and Sebastian promptly guides him off the edge of the course again. Teuvo laughs, and the crease in Sebastian’s forehead deepens as he bites out, “Shut up, I never played Mario Kart that much, okay?”

Teuvo can’t really respond to Sebastian because he’s laughing too hard, so he just works on lapping him.

Sebastian’s a good kid, he thinks.

◆◆◆

Teuvo’s had a few years to practice English, so he’s well equipped to correct Sebastian’s hesitant, halting attempts. But Sebastian _tries_ , and Teuvo’s there for when it doesn’t quite come out right.

In Chicago, speaking anything but English was discouraged, and he’d been slapped with fines more than once for violation of that rule. But in his last year there, he’d become increasingly lonely without another Finn on the team. He’d missed having Finnish conversations in hushed voices, even if it had meant coughing up a hundred dollars of his salary. He’d missed Antti’s weird western accent so much that he’d gone to visit him in New York for Christmas.

The Hurricanes seemed to be more relaxed about foreign languages - the first day, Joakim had been chattering in rapid-fire Swedish with Elias Lindholm, and no one seemed to pay them any mind. Of course Teuvo and Sebastian conversed in Finnish away from the rink. They’d already started using nicknames for each other - not hockey nicknames, but names they would hear in Finland. _Sebas_ , Teuvo calls him one day, just because he can’t be bothered to say the rest of Sebastian’s name, and then _Sepe_. And if asked, he would vehemently deny blushing the first time Sebastian uses his childhood nickname, _Teukka_. But it does make something warm unfurl inside him.

The first time Teuvo stands in the Carolina locker room speaking his native tongue with Sebastian, he can feel that knot around his chest loosening further, and Carolina starts to feel a little bit like it could be home.

◆◆◆

Preseason means travelling, and travelling means roommates. Which means nothing to Teuvo, since he’s already living with Sebastian in Raleigh, so it’s only natural for them to pair up on the road.

Teuvo wakes up disoriented one night, before he remembers where he is thanks to the sharp scent of bleached hotel sheets. He squints at the glow of the clock numbers on the bedside table, before rolling over and trying to slip back into unconsciousness.

Except he can’t, because every ten seconds or so, the blankets on Sebastian’s bed start rustling. And it doesn’t stop.

“Sebastian?” Teuvo mumbles, quiet, into the dark.

No answer for a few moments, and then what sounds like a breath hissing out from between Sebastian’s teeth. “Sorry,” he says, “I can’t sleep. I’ll try not to keep you up.”

Teuvo’s mind is still groggy, so he doesn’t really think much before he rolls out of his own bed and climbs into Sebastian’s. He’s close enough to feel Sebastian’s body shaking. “Sorry,” Sebastian says again, “I guess I’m nervous.” Teuvo just drapes an arm around Sebastian, whispers, “Don’t worry about it. Go to bed.” At some point, Teuvo feels the trembles stop, and slips blissfully into sleep himself.

In the morning, Teuvo wakes up alone. The spot next to him is cool, but he can hear the shower running.

They don’t talk about it.

 

* * *

The parts of me the eyes can't see

They're glowing underneath

* * *

 

By the start of the season, Sebastian can keep a conversation with the rest of the guys, especially about hockey, but he seems to clam up when it comes to media. A reporter asks him about his feelings before his first NHL game, and Sebastian responds, “I’m excited.” But it comes out flat, and Teuvo can hear the wavering of nerves in his voice. He remembers that night in the hotel, those same nerves shaking through Sebastian’s entire body.

Teuvo knows what it’s like, feeling overwhelmed with a camera in his face and only passable English to field questions. So he sidles up to the reporter, grin pasted on his face, and says, “I think he’s pretty excited, but I don’t know if he shows that.”

“Is being excited but not showing it, is it a Finnish thing?” the man drawls.

It’s an ‘I’m nervous and speaking a weird language and you talk really fast and there’s so much going on’ thing, Teuvo thinks, trying not to let the flash of annoyance show on his face.

What he says is, “Yeah, maybe,” followed by an awkward chuckle, and the reporter seems satisfied.

Teuvo’s accomplished what he set out to do, anyway, as the guy’s attention turns to him. He has to throw out a couple more cliché lines about first NHL games and how good Sebastian is, but he’s comfortable enough with media now that it’s not a struggle for him.

His eyes meet with Sebastian’s over the reporter’s shoulder. _Thanks,_ Sebastian mouths, and Teuvo smiles back.

◆◆◆

They have a game in the evening, it’s five hours until puck drop, and Sebastian is furiously doing plyometric exercises using the sofa.

Teuvo squints at him.

“What the hell,” he says, and Sebastian’s mouth thins into a frustrated line.

“I need to work harder. I don’t have a goal yet.”

Teuvo rolls his eyes. “It’s been six games. It’ll come, but you need to relax.”

Sebastian says nothing, just grits his teeth harder as he continues his squat-jump routine, and Teuvo sighs. “You’re going to wear yourself out before the game like this.”

“Damn it, I need to do _something_ , I can’t -” Sebastian breaks off, and Teuvo can empathize. He remembers being eager to get his first NHL goal too, although it was never this bad. Sebastian’s anxiety is palpable in the air.

“Go take a nap,” Teuvo says, knowing nothing good ever comes out of getting worked up hours before a game. “I'm sure our downstairs neighbors hate us right now.”

Sebastian’s pout deepens, but he obediently shuffles off to his room. Satisfied, Teuvo goes to fuss around in the kitchen a bit, making sure they have enough food in the fridge to scrape together a pregame meal, before heading to his own bed.

He’s just drifting off when he hears the door click open, feels the dip of the mattress next to him.

“What -”

“Can’t sleep,” Sebastian mumbles, “and this worked last time.”

Teuvo’s not in the mood to argue, so he lets Sebastian stay curled up by his side, and honestly, it’s really nice.

◆◆◆

It becomes a thing, then, Sebastian coming to sleep with him whenever he can’t find peace in his own bed.

And if they gravitate a little more towards each other during waking hours - if Teuvo leans in a little closer when talking, if Sebastian drapes his arm along the back of the couch when they watch highlights on NHL Network so that it touches the nape of Teuvo’s neck, well. It’s not like Teuvo minds.

He doesn’t even think twice about it the first time _he_ seeks out Sebastian to nap together, the first time he buries his nose in Sebastian’s pillows. But then Sebastian makes a noise and scoots closer to Teuvo, and Teuvo feels - something well up in his throat, raw and wanting, and swallows it down.

He’s not young anymore.

◆◆◆

Sebastian angles a pass to him and Teuvo immediately zips it across to Jordan, whose defenseman was cheating toward him, leaving Jordan open in the slot glove side. The shot ends up hitting the middle of Grubauer's chest, but Teuvo sees Sebastian lunging for the rebound. He doesn't see the puck go in. The noise of the crowd swells, but he doesn't hear that either. All that registers with him is Sebastian dropping to his knee, clenched fists by his side, face screaming, _finally._

That look of pure joy and relief is still there when Teuvo crashes into him against the boards, along with three other sweaty, jubilant hockey guys. “Fucking right, Seabass!” someone's yelling, “What a goal!” Teuvo’s swept up in the moment too, reaching up to pat Sebastian helmet, his shoulder.

“Good goal,” Teuvo says to him on the bench, later. “I told you it would come.”

Sebastian grins. “Sure, that was definitely because of you. All that napping made me a better scorer.”

“Tell that to the camera crew, I dare you,” Teuvo says, knowing they'd want to pull him for an interview during intermission. Sebastian laughs, and Teuvo thinks that this might be the happiest he’s ever seen him. His happiness must be infectious, because Teuvo can’t help but to smile back at him, and his body feels light as air.

◆◆◆

Cooking meals might be a tall order, but Teuvo’s good at fixing up snacks. He'd picked up a couple things in Chicago besides a Cup ring, his love for hummus being one of them. He's wrestling with the plastic packaging on a new tub of the stuff when Sebastian walks into the living room, chattering on FaceTime, and plops down onto the sofa.

“Teukka, say hi to Pulju,” Sebastian says, tilting his phone in Teuvo’s direction.

Teuvo’s only met Jesse a couple times, briefly, but remembers watching his play during World Juniors and being impressed. “Hi Pulju,” Teuvo says obediently, and he can hear Jesse’s tinny laugh from the speakers.

“I hope Sepe isn't a nightmare to live with,” Jesse says. “I remember his room in Kärpät - god, you could barely see the floor in his room -”

“Yours was gross too, shut up,” Sebastian snaps, and Teuvo bites his lip to keep the grin from his face.

“Actually,” Teuvo says, “he cleans up after _me_ now as part of his rent for living here. It's nice, kinda like having my own little housewife.”

Sebastian goes scarlet, and Jesse cracks up. “Shut up!” he hisses, but it's too late. Jesse is already wheezing on his screen, “little housewife!”

Teuvo just leans over the kitchen counter and smirks at Sebastian, who emphatically flips him off.

It's not really true - they share the housework. But it's almost too easy, knowing what buttons to push to get Sebastian worked up. And the light that enters his eyes, the eagerness etched in his face that says, _I'm gonna get you back._ It's - cute.

The thought lingers for only a few seconds before Teuvo banishes it.

◆◆◆

Sebastian moves out, eventually, although nothing much really changes because he moves into the apartment directly below Teuvo’s, and still comes over all the time.

Except in the afternoon after a hard practice, or when it's time to prepare for a game, Sebastian always garbles something about sleeping in his own room, and slips out the door. Teuvo doesn't protest, just lets him go. At first, Teuvo thought maybe Sebastian’s desire for his own space covered personal space, too. But then when Teuvo lies awake and alone, he can't help the doubt that creeps into his mind - maybe Sebastian’s drifting away, for good.

He misses - sharing dinner, sharing company. Even when they retired to their own rooms, or whatever, Teuvo could still feel Sebastian’s presence in the apartment, like a blip on his radar. Without another person around all the time - without _Sebastian_ \- Teuvo realizes he feels a little lonely.

It's good he's becoming more independent, Teuvo tries to convince himself. He tries not to think about how nice it felt to be wanted, for once. The constriction in his chest is back.

A moment of weakness: the room is empty, dim, but he whispers the words anyway. _Come back._

◆◆◆

“I thought you moved out,” Eddie says to Sebastian. The Swedes often hung out on off days and Joakim had invited the Finns this time. They’re all crammed onto Elias’s tiny apartment patio, grilling because it’s the South, and it’s an unusually warm winter day, and why the hell not.

“I did,” replies Sebastian, and Elias, ever nosy, pipes up from where he’s flipping burgers, “Seems like you two still live together, since every time I ask you where you are, you say ‘with Turbo’.”

Sebastian’s back is to him, but Teuvo can imagine the way his frown would deepen, ever so slightly. “Just for video games and stuff.”

“I kick his ass in video games all the time. He's always trying to beat me,” Teuvo calls out. As expected, Sebastian turns around and immediately starts insisting, “No, not yesterday, remember, I beat you four rounds in a row -”

Elias fires something back, something about how his grandma could beat Sebastian in Call of Duty blindfolded, which just fuels Sebastian further. At some point, they get dangerously close to wrestling, and Eddie has to scold them to make sure they don’t knock over the table.

“What a cute couple,” quips Joakim. He only meant it as a joke, but Teuvo can suddenly feel his stomach flip. He looks down at his plate, a half eaten bratwurst staring sadly back at him, and wonders if he's getting indigestion.

 

* * *

Picking off the petals

I'll let you if you're gentle

* * *

 

Sometime in late January, Sebastian surprises him. “Let's nap,” Sebastian says abruptly, tugs Teuvo by the wrist into the bedroom, and then practically shoves him onto the bed.

“I thought you didn't like this anymore,” Teuvo says feebly, too taken aback to really argue. Sebastian says something under his breath, and Teuvo has to strain to hear.

“What?”

“Forget it,” sighs Sebastian, climbing into the mattress. “Let's just - can we just do this, please?” And Teuvo doesn't have it in him to do anything other than agree.

When they’re snuggled into the comforter, about to drift off, Sebastian mumbles, “Are we ever gonna talk about this?”

Teuvo doesn’t respond.

◆◆◆

The next day, Sebastian says, “We should talk about this,” and Teuvo stares at him in confusion.

“Talk?”

“The - us, we should talk about…” Sebastian hesitates, then laughs. “Teukka, you have to know that I like you. A lot.”

Despite what he’s just said, Sebastian’s face is relaxed, sweet, and - _easy_ , it’s so easy to be around Sebastian, Teuvo thinks, it’d be so easy to be _with_ him, and Teuvo -

Teuvo kisses Sebastian.

And then he pushes him away, shocked at himself, and blurts, “Sorry - I don’t -”

“Shut up,” Sebastian says, grabbing Teuvo’s shirt collar, “shut up and come back -”

Sebastian’s mouth is bossy and insistent. That, at least, is nothing new; Sebastian has always been confident in himself, and Teuvo has always been a little bit jealous.

It’s enough to make Teuvo lose himself, kissing and kissing and _kissing_ Sebastian, tiny sighs filling the air between them. Teuvo can’t help it, lifts his arms, to cling to Sebastian’s neck, and Sebastian groans before renewing his fervor.

And then the realization slams into him like a hard check to the boards, what they’re doing, and Teuvo has to pull away again, and he can practically see Sebastian’s face melt into confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asks, and Teuvo says, “Uh.”

He’s never been good in confrontations, both on and off the ice. “I’m - tired - gonna take a nap,” he blurts, and flees out the door.

◆◆◆

The click of his door is quiet, but expected. It’s not like Teuvo can really avoid Sebastian, seeing as they live in the same complex, and Sebastian has his extra set of keys.

Not to mention that Sebastian has always been inexorable.

“Teukka,” Sebastian whispers, lifting the covers and curling close.

Teuvo doesn’t turn over. “We have a game,” he says, voice unsteady. “I need to get some rest.”

Sebastian presses closer, warm against Teuvo’s back, and moves his hips almost imperceptibly, and that’s - oh fuck, that’s -

“I like you, I want you, why can’t you see that?” Sebastian says, and Teuvo’s heart is twisting, fluttering against his ribcage.

Seconds pass, turning into a minute, then two, and all the while Sebastian’s trying to push closer, wraps an arm tight around Teuvo’s waist, as if he could squeeze out the words he wants to hear.

But Teuvo can’t - he can’t say it, because that would make it _real_. Not that what he feels isn’t real, but because saying it would shred whatever’s left of his self control, and one thing would lead to another, and Teuvo would end up fucking everything up, just like last time.

Teuvo realizes, belatedly, that he’s shaking in Sebastian’s arms, and he almost laughs at the irony.

“I know you’re awake,” Sebastian insists, a bit of that bratty edge coming out, at the same time Teuvo mumbles, plaintive, “Sepe, I can’t…”

He doesn’t have to look at Sebastian’s face to know he’s rolling his eyes. “You can’t what?” Sebastian asks, frustrated, then says, “Ugh if you can’t, whatever, can I at least nap with you? I miss us - I miss this.”

The thing is, Teuvo misses it too. There’s always something comforting about sharing a language with teammates, something that was missing for most of his last year in Chicago. But even when Timonen was around, Teuvo never felt quite - whole. He’s realized that falling asleep with Sebastian was the closest he'd ever gotten to feeling truly content in a long time.

“I guess,” Teuvo says softly, and he can feel Sebastian’s sigh against the back of his neck.

Then Sebastian unwinds his arm and moves away. Teuvo thinks he’s just trying to get his own space until he hears clothes rustling under the sheets. And then Sebastian lets out a shuddery breath, and Teuvo’s entire body tenses up, remembering the blunt pressure he’d felt at the back of his thigh just a few minutes ago.

Sebastian lets out a thin laugh. “Yeah, I, since we separated, I’ve been getting myself off before naps, so. I’m not going to stop now.”

Another exhale, then, “I think about you, you know, when I -”

Finally, Teuvo rotates to look at him, and there’s no doubting the blush across Sebastian’s cheeks, spreading rapidly down his neck. There’s a similar warmth burning on Teuvo’s own face.

“You can’t just _say_ that!”

“It’s true,” Sebastian replies, unapologetic. The sheets are pooled at his waist, so Teuvo can’t see anything, but it’s not like his mind can’t fill in the blanks.

“I think about - us, together, I think about holding you, what it would be like if I could get my mouth on you. Fuck, we would be so good…”

Teuvo bites his lip, ashamed, because it’s like Sebastian has been reading his mind. Sometimes, in the privacy of his room, darkness pressing in against him, he lets himself think about the same thing. He lets himself imagine now, for a second, what it would be like to touch Sebastian, to feel him hot and heavy against his palm. Swallowing, his throat clicking dry, Teuvo whispers, “I don’t - what should I do, Sebas, what do you want?”

Immediately, Sebastian responds, “I want you to be mine,” and there’s no mistaking the desperate edge in his words.

There’s no sound that can escape Teuvo’s throat, so he just lifts a trembling hand to Sebastian’s face, gently pushing away strands of hair from his forehead, stroking his temple, his jaw.

“Teukka,” Sebastian says, voice brittle, eyes molten as he refuses to look away, “I really like you.”

And Teuvo is helpless, brushes a thumb over Sebastian’s bottom lip, and says, “I’ve always been yours,” and watches as Sebastian’s lids squeeze shut, lashes fanning out over the top of his cheekbones, watches as his body shakes apart.

◆◆◆

Once, Teuvo was in love, and it ended rather poorly for him. The resulting fallout caused him to swear off from relationships for - not forever. But for as long as he had his hockey career, at least. He tells Sebastian this and Sebastian just quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, I won’t let that happen,” Sebastian insists with finality. Then, softer, “I like you so much, I wouldn’t ever… I promise. We can… go slow.” His eyes are so warm, so earnest.

Sebastian is, if nothing else, stubborn to his core. He’d proven that from the first day they’d met. Every hockey game they’d played, every video game battle, the naps - the naps.

Oh, Teuvo realizes, he’s been deftly undoing my knots all this time.

“Okay,” he whispers, and he feels the last bits of the bindings in his chest fall away.

 

* * *

 This kind of love we can't control  
The art of touch, I am covered in gold

**Author's Note:**

> it took me literally over a year to finish this, that's how much my attention span for writing sucks. finished in the span of a couple days, so if the ending seems hurried, it was.
> 
> teuvo is actually on record saying sebastian is his little housewife, except he said this to a finnish news outlet (!)
> 
> the song is unfold by alina baraz.


End file.
